


I Had a Dream

by timeheist



Category: Catherine (Video Game), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, The Avengers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short crossovers between various fandoms and the video game 'Catherine'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock's Dream - Sherlock

The game had changed. Sherlock Holmes was infuriated to realise that he hadn’t planned for this eventually.

For two days now the dreams had followed the same, uneventful monotonous pattern. Start outside the tall door, almost naked and surrounded by anthropomorphic sheep, solve a block puzzle that Sherlock could have worked out when he was five, and wake up approximately ten point four hours later utterly unfilled and faintly paranoid. Of course on the first night there had been only one ‘level’, but on the second night he had reached a plateau and answered a monotonous question from an anonymous juror about moral righteousness and had to climb a second. The answer had been obvious; clearly he was supposed to choose the immortal option and seal his fate, and so he’d answered straight away that he wouldn’t do anything to get what he wanted. A lie, of course, but needs must.

What he hadn’t expected was the severed hand scratching and clawing at his ankles with a mortician’s scalpel. It hadn’t landed home yet but he knew whose hand it was; their precision when it came to their work was sound, and he had a memory for voices that allowed him to identify the crazed laughter that accompanied each swipe. Luckily their aim wasn’t quite as good, as John had once mentioned, lightly teasing, at one of the tedious events that Lestrade had liked to organise for ‘team morale’. It all added up to the fact that he had to keep climbing, and there was no time to appreciate the intricacies of the nightmare his guilty mind had conjured up tonight. Not if there wasn’t the slightest chance that the rumours were true.

If he died in the dream before he woke up, then he was going to make a lot of people even more upset and angry than before. So few people knew that his death alongside Moriarty’s had been a fake. Molly and Mycroft, and perhaps John had worked it out, perhaps not. Sherlock worried about him as much as he did himself, tonight. For the last four years he’d been lying low, watching John from a distance and planning for the day he would be able to come back, make up some tawdry lie for the press and explain everything to John.

Of course these dreams had to just be an extension of that. He was worried about coming back to life, worried what John would think, and it was only natural that even an intellect as great as his would feel guilt at telling just Molly and not his best friend. He could have asked either of them – they both had the medical knowledge – but he simply couldn’t have risked John’s life if Moran had ever worked things out. It was atrocious to think he could risk Molly’s but it would be pointless to pander to his conscience.

It was elementary that after two days of tedium and monotony, two days of punishment and torture, Molly Hooper was trying to kill him. But at least it wasn’t John Watson’s bloody hand clambering over the fallen blocks, and that gave Sherlock the strength to keep climbing.


	2. Dean's Dream - Supernatural

“I’m the one who picked you up and raised you from Perdition. I know when you’re lying to me.”

Dean’s throat was raw. His palms were sweaty, and he was certain that every nerve cluster in his body was condensed on the burning handprint on his arm, a perfect match for the angel who had inflicted the scar. How had Castiel worked it out? How had he found out? He’d broken up with Anna last night; if what they had been doing could be called dating in the first place. Dean was still in denial about his own cheating, after all, he never remembered any of the nights he supposedly spent with the woman.

He’d been meaning to tell Castiel, he really had, but where did he start? Dean had never read his bible unless he needed it for an exorcism, but even he knew that adultery was in one of the Ten Commandments and that basically, you didn’t do it. How was he supposed to beg forgiveness of a fucking angel of the Lord if he was going to give a great big fuck you to the man up there like that? And so like so many of his problems Dean had batten down the hatches, tried to do the right thing, and not even mentioned to Sam that things were going to the proverbial – thankfully not literal – hell in a hand basket.

And then, on the first night all week that he hadn’t been helping other sheep people escape their demons and being chased by his ignored responsibilities and inner demons, the first night of not having to realise more people he’d spoken to the night before had died, the first night that he’d managed to get a good night’s sleep, his conscience clearing, Castiel had turned up with his epiphany. He’d known all along, had been waiting for Dean to come clear. And he didn’t think that there was anything between them anymore. Maybe this was a dream. It had to still be a nightmare…!

“You must know something!” Dean wanted to shake the angel, or scream and beg. He wasn’t sure. “People are dying, Cas!”

“You’re having bad dreams.” He was too calm, smiling slightly in that not-quite-a-smile way that he did, not even losing his temper. Dean just wished he would lose his temper. “I’ve never heard about anything like this.”

“It could be demons. Pagan gods. Succubae.” Dean's hands curled into fists. "We'll ask Sammy, he'll do some research and-"

“Anna is a fallen angel. Nothing more.” Castiel gave Dean one last, long, concerned look. “Goodbye, Dean. Try and get some sleep.”


	3. Tony's Dream - The Avengers

“Don’t worry. You’ll never see that woman again.”

Tony couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid! To fall for a magic trick, and one orchestrated by Loki at that! Of course it had all been too good to be true. Amora, sexy, alluring, enchantress in bed was, in fact, actually the Enchantress. Pepper was going to kill him. So was Steve. And so, probably was Loki. Cheery thoughts. Tony was ever the optimist.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that Reindeer Games.”

At least there was the fact that out of all the mortals Loki had tricked into this trap, some of them probably other Avengers, Tony was the first one to have worked it out. He’d get out of this confessional, beat whatever mundane boss level the god had concocted this time, warn the others, and then beat his and Amora’s asses all the way back to Asgard. Tony wasn’t above hitting a girl when it came to something like this. And then of course when the ass-kicking was done and Steve decided to forgive him because really, he’d screwed up but he’d saved the day too, then he could gloat about his genius and he and Steve could have hot, steamy make-up fondue.

He parted his legs, quite confident in his boxers in the confessional, with his ratty old pillow tucked under one arm – hey, he was rich, but this one had been with him since he was kid – and a smug look on his face. Through the tinny speaker on the wall the voice that was now undeniably Loki’s – really, Tony supposed he should have worked it out sooner. No one else would concoct a plan this devious just to break up a couple. It was almost flattering – snorted unpleasantly. Apparently Loki didn’t like to be interrupted in the middle of a monologue. Well. That was interesting.

“I have much better tricks up my sleeve than getting you to fuck a magician and break the heart of your super soldi-“

“You know if you were that determined to get Amora to stop pining after Thor you could have just asked. Maybe Pepper could have set you two up with a date.”

Loki growled, slamming his fist down on the microphone. The whole confessional rattled, the doors slamming shut and the lights dimming viciously.

“I would be careful with your jests, mortal. Tonight’s puzzle is a little more personal than the last few…”


	4. The Doctor's Dream - Doctor Who

It made perfect sense. Which of course, since things never made perfect sense, meant that it made no sense at all. The Doctor scowled, clasping the downy pillow to his chest under folded arms and wishing that he’d thought to wear something else to bed than a pair of boxers favoured by his last regeneration covered in bright green spaceships. If there was one thing that the Dream Lord didn’t need, it was more ammunition to mock the Doctor – to mock himself – with, whether the Doctor was dreaming or not.

“Let me guess.” The Dream Lord’s drawl was even more pronounced than usual. The Doctor was surprised that he’d recognized the sheep as his crazed alter-ego at all. Falling blocks, darkness, animal disguises? Whatever he hoped to achieve this time, whatever was on his mind, the illusions were more outlandish this time. He wondered where the psychic pollen was hidden this time. He’d not seen River yet; hopefully she was still safe asleep in bed. “The sheep are a metaphor for sleepless guilty nights alone in the TARDIS without the wife?”

“That’s today’s trick? Playing dumb? I thought I was better than that.” The Doctor glanced over his shoulder to the now-collapsed staircase, the empty blackness he’d ascended through. “And sheep this time? Baa baa and I fall asleep?”

The Dream Lord scowled, confused, but his expression steadily morphed into a wide, threatening smirk as he stepped forward, driving the half naked Doctor backwards until his back grazed wooden door of the confessional. The rest of the sheep on the platform turned to stare, for just a second. Then, with flock mentality, they continued to discuss techniques and discuss their angst as though nothing was going on. The Doctor strained to recognize them, too. Nothing.

“You’re even more dim than usual today, Doctor. Go on.” The Dream Lord rapped the Doctor’s chest with one hoof, and the confessional door swung open. “Rose is waiting.”


End file.
